


Hands All Over

by andlightplay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Massage, Rimming, Stress Relief, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andlightplay/pseuds/andlightplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean stares at him, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tightness of his mouth and the craziness of his hair, which looks like he's been running his hands through it a lot, helpless and frustrated. He can only imagine what that means for the angel under the skin, wound tight with worry and fear but putting up a strong front for the troops, having to shine bright and fearless when he's actually flickering with doubts. Clearly Cas needs a goddamn break, a little reminder that there are good things in the world too, that life can be awesome.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lucky for him, awesome is practically Dean Winchester's middle name.</i>
</p><p>Written for a prompt on deancaskink; set during S6. Originally <a href="http://andlightplay.livejournal.com/34441.html">posted on LJ</a> 23/07/11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands All Over

The case is done, but they're past the checkout time and Sam had tried to look casual about going back to that Starbucks again, laptop tucked under his arm, but Dean had grinned at him and agreed that yeah, that barista had definitely been flirting with him, what, would he like a written invitation, get over there already and Sam had told him he was an ass and hurried out, ears faintly pink. "And don't come back til you've frothed her cappuccino good!" Dean had shouted after him, and Sam had flipped him off.

Dean is idly watching TV and considering maybe wandering round 'til he finds a bar - maybe play a little pool or something, they could use the extra money - when there's that clatter of wings and Cas is standing in the middle of the room, head bowed. His eyes are closed and he's maybe even swaying a little, and Dean is out of his seat and supporting him with a hand on his chest and his arm round his shoulders before Cas has a chance to actually fall. 

"Woah there sparky, what the hell?"

Cas swallows, attempts to straighten up. "My apologies Dean, I don't mean to inconvenience you."

Dean snorts, guiding him over to the bed to sit down. "You're not an inconvenience Cas, not unless you're rockin' up in the middle of something involving a hot girl or two. Which you aren't. Now siddown before you fall."

Cas slumps in on himself the moment he's seated, exhaling deeply. "Where's Sam?"

"Out. _He'll_ be in the middle of something involving a hot girl pretty soon, or he should be. Kid needs to get laid." He falls silent a moment, leaning back on his elbows and listening vaguely to the TV, where some dude's spouting medical jargon like he knows it from crap; watches Cas's back and the weary curve of his spine. "So, what's up?"

"I am...tired," Cas says after a moment, not turning round. "This war is ceaseless and unremitting; I hadn't realised it would be so exhausting."

Dean raises an eyebrow, pushing himself back upright. "You didn't know war was exhausting? No offense Cas, but what, didja think Raphael was just gonna roll over and give it up? That's not how it works, dude."

"I didn't know so many would support him. I didn't know I would have to keep killing my brothers and sisters, and feeling the pain of every death. I didn't know I would have to leave you and Sam unprotected, that I would have to ignore your prayers for help because I had to lead an army against a much greater force with only _my_ conviction, _my_ belief that what we were doing was righteous and just, keeping them together." It's the bitterest Dean's ever heard him, even when God told them they were on their own and Cas went out and got drunk out his gourd; even in the future when he was strung-out and about as far from angelic as he could go.

"Hey, woah, me and Sammy are okay, we can take care of ourselves, you don't have to worry about _us_." Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, reassuring. "You should've told us, man, we'd 've stopped bothering you."

Cas finally turns to look at him. "You do not 'bother' me, Dean. As I have told you, much of the time I would rather be here, with you. I must take whatever opportunity I can to gain a little respite; they are few enough as it is."

Dean stares at him, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tightness of his mouth and the craziness of his hair, which looks like he's been running his hands through it a lot, helpless and frustrated. He can only imagine what that means for the angel under the skin, wound tight with worry and fear but putting up a strong front for the troops, having to shine bright and fearless when he's actually flickering with doubts. Clearly Cas needs a goddamn break, a little reminder that there are good things in the world too, that life can be awesome. 

Lucky for him, awesome is practically Dean Winchester's middle name.

He grabs a handful of that damn trenchcoat and stands up, hauling Cas up with him. Cas lets himself be manhandled, that little frown line appearing between his eyes as he tries to figure out what Dean's doing, and Dean grins and _pulls_ , yanking the coat off Cas's shoulder and halfway down his arm. Cas blinks and bends his arm obligingly so Dean can get it the rest of the way off, then lets him do the same on the other side so the coat rustles to the floor at Cas's feet, Dean right up in his space and smirking. He slips a hand under each half of the suit jacket, slides across Cas's collarbones so the material bunches up against his wrists and down over the curve of his shoulder, feeling Cas draw in a breath, eyes fixed on his. Dean pushes a little further and Cas crooks his arms and the jacket slides the rest of the way off, and Dean brings his hands back to work on loosening Cas's tie, which makes a silky, slithery noise as he widens the loop until he can pull it over Cas's ducked head. 

"One second," Dean says, holding up a finger, and goes over to the door, opening it just enough to slip the tie over the handle on the outside. He's pretty sure Sam won't be back for a while, but just in case he somehow screwed it up with the Starbucks chick, he needs to know the room isn't available for moping and he'll have to take his sorry ass elsewhere.

Cas is watching him, looking surprisingly young with his collar sticking up and hair wild, but he already looks more relaxed and Dean counts it as a win. He makes short work of Cas's shirt buttons, fingers ticking down his chest and leaving a lengthening V of skin in their wake while Cas does his cuffs, and then Dean's pushing the shirt off his shoulders too and barely giving Cas time to shake it off his arms before he's shoving him, hard, and Cas goes sprawling backwards onto the bed, startled and staring as Dean drops to his knees and pulls off his shoes and socks, tongue darting out over his lips.

"Roll over on your stomach," Dean orders, standing back up and stripping his outer shirt off as he toes off his boots, and Cas gives him a _look_ and does as he's told, pillowing his head on his arms. Dean hesitates for the briefest of seconds, then rolls his eyes at himself and plants a knee on the mattress by Cas's thigh, swinging himself over so he's straddling Cas's body. Cas takes a breath, about to say something, and Dean taps a fist against his ribs. "You're wound tighter than a goddamn alarm clock dude, your shoulders are like freakin' _stone_. Shut up and lemme work." He leans forward a little, shifting to get comfortable, then curls his hands over Cas's shoulders and digs his thumbs in. Cas starts, muscles twitching, then his neck goes limp and he sighs out a breath that ends on a groan. "Yeah, there we go," Dean agrees smugly, and does it again.

Cas's skin is warm under Dean's hands; he always runs hot, probably something to do with the Chrysler building-sized angel all coiled up inside. Sometimes, it's a little hard to remember that the angel Castiel is merely borrowing this body, that the windswept hair and the curious eyes and the low, deliberate voice aren't his; that this creature Dean has grown to care for so much is really insubstantial and unbearable, a flare of light and raw power. 

It's not something he likes to dwell on, and he shakes himself out of it now and back to Cas under him, making grateful, needy little noises somewhere between a moan and a purr. 

The Winchester brand of massage is not the same as the kind that have happy endings (and Dean knows because he's researched and compared notes on the latter. Extensively). When you're out on the road, you just want the pain gone, no matter how ungentle or lacking in proper technique the actual massage is, so while Dean's pretty sure he could be gentler or more relaxing, Cas's shoulders really are like freaking _rock_ and the only way to sort it out is to just kind of crush the tension out until the muscle softens under his touch. He works his way systematically outwards along Cas's shoulder, and every time he starts anew Cas pushes into his hands and makes happy little noises that are more than a little pornographic. Once he gets to the end he comes back in and presses his thumbs into the edges of Cas's spine, and Cas makes a shuddery little affirmative sound.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, mostly for something to say, and Cas turns his head to the side so his words aren't lost in the pillow.

" _Yes_."

It doesn't take Dean as long to get down the length of his back, and then he comes up again because the back of Cas's neck is also a mass of knotted muscle, but it's worth it to watch Cas's eyelashes flutter when Dean hits the real sore spots and hear the low, appreciative humming noise he makes once they're all smoothed out again.

Once he's done Dean takes a second to sit back, pleased with himself, and to admire the sight of an angel so blissed out he looks like he'd sink into the mattress if he could. Then he leans back down and rolls his thumbs just under the points of Cas's shoulderblades, and Cas makes a soft grumbling noise and rearranges himself, the bones shifting under his skin. Dean bends further forward, arms braced on either side of Cas's body, and bites gently where one of his thumbs was just working, then sucks over the tip of the bone, and Cas shudders helplessly, spine arching, Dean's name spilling from him on a breathless gasp.

Dean pulls away, point made, and Cas sighs, then there's a rustle, so quiet it's almost subliminal, like leaves in a slight breeze. The bed creaks with the new weight, and then Cas's wings are carefully unfurling on either side of Dean, slowly opening out until they're fully extended, feathers on one side catching a little against the wall. 

Cas pushes his forehead into the pillow and arches his neck, wings quivering as he stretches them right out with a low, appreciative sound, and then Dean gets distracted by the play of muscles under his skin, the flex and pull that's echoed in the twist and slant of his wings, until Cas settles back down and they come to rest, curving back in on themselves until they're more-or-less on the bed, half-folded so the lowest feathers drape over Dean's thighs where he's still straddling Cas's ass. 

Dean leaves his hands hovering for a moment more, both savouring the moment and struck once again by the vague idea that there's actually some kind of taboo he's about to break, then gives in and buries his fingers in the feathers, raking his hands backwards to comb through them and then doing it again palm-up. The underfeathers are pure white, but the top ones have a greyish tinge, like they're covered in dust, and Dean sometimes wonders if that's a sign of what Cas's been through - retrieving him from Hell, becoming human, killing his brothers - and then if maybe the wings are therefore kind of his fault, since y'know, Cas wouldn't have done any of that without knowing him. 

When he does _this_ , reaching as far as he can to run both hands through the feathers on each wing over and over, he kind of almost hopes that his skin might come away coated in grey, and Cas's feathers will brush up white again. 

Cas's wings are warm, and Dean rubs his fingertips in small circles as he burrows them down deep, feathers brushing silkily against his knuckles; Cas makes another one of those pleased, encouraging noises and drops one shoulder so his wing droops lower, giving Dean more access. He works his way along and down, paying special attention to the join of wing and body and getting breathless little groans in reward as he kneads light fingers over where feathers become skin. The same goes for the other wing, though this time he starts from Cas's back and works outwards, following the line of it where it curves upwards towards Cas's head and then sweeps back down and round to below his hips. 

This time when he sits back, done, Cas's whole body has gone soft and easy, shoulders loose and wings flopping off the edge of the mattress towards the floor. 

"Hey Cas, you still with me?" Dean asks, nudging a knee up into Cas's ribs, and the angel stirs, one eye opening to regard him beatifically. Dean can't help smiling as he shifts his balance, lifting one leg and swinging it over Cas's body, hooking a finger in the nearest beltloop and tugging. "Good, cause now we're gettin' to the good part."

Cas makes an intrigued kind of noise and rolls gently sideways so he's facing Dean, one wing kind of trapped behind him and fanned over the bedcover and the other spreading open to balance him, curved so it arches over Dean's head. Dean tilts his head to stare up at it, watching the way the light filters though the long feathers, the minute corrections it makes as Cas moves in his peripheral vision. Cas snorts, amused, and the wing twists back on itself as he lies back down. Dean blinks down at him, then realises Cas's pants are hanging looser on his hips and gets his fingers back through the beltloops to pull them down, shifting his other fingers to catch the waistband of Cas's underwear as he goes. Oh yeah, he's is so fucking smooth. Cas kicks his legs idly, helping to get his feet free, and then Dean's throwing the last of Cas's clothes off the bed and is finally faced with nothing but naked skin.

For a moment he just wants to say _Fuck it_ and grab Cas by the hip, roll him over and kiss him breathless, hands running out over his wings. But no, Cas needs this and he'll damn well finish what he started, and before he can think better of it he pulls Cas's nearest leg up into his lap and spans his hand over the top of Cas's thigh, rolling his fingertips and kind of kneading a little at the flesh beneath them. Cas exhales in a muffled rush, twitching under Dean's hand like he was expecting something else, and Dean can't help a smirk. That makes two of them then.

He works his way down Cas's leg, pausing to tickle his thumb over the back of Cas's knee because it makes him shiver, and then when he gets to the ankle he sets that leg down, shuffles across the bed on his knees, and starts again on the other one. When that leg's done too he nudges it back onto the bed, then inches himself backwards a little and sits back on his heels to just take a second. 

Cas is sprawled and boneless, the lines of his body finally absent of that particularly _Cas_ kind of awkwardness, like he's trying to balance something on his head and something heavy on his back at the same time; shoulders straight and chin up like a good little soldier. Now there's just a clean sweep of pale skin, lean legs up to the wings bracketing his back and that perpetually-tousled dark head. Dean reaches out, curling a hand loosely over Cas's calf; he wants to go over every inch of skin with hands and mouth, and that's still something he's a little surprised he can think about a guy.

Cas flexes his leg in Dean's grasp, and Dean drops his hand down onto the sheets and slides up over Cas again, nuzzling into the space between his wings, the soft place where smooth skin becomes tiny, impossibly soft feathers. Cas shudders, wings falling as open as he can get them and Dean smiles, knowing Cas can feel it, and drags his mouth down each emergent wing, tongue pressing into the skin and catching on the feathers. Cas arches demandingly up into it, breathing faster now and murmuring "Dean" like it means so much more.

Dean presses a final kiss to the centre of Cas’s back, right between his wings, then drops his forehead down to rest against the skin, feeling Cas’s ribcage rise and fall as he breathes quick and deep, waiting. Dean closes his eyes, conscious of the wings on either side of him and the hushed ebb and flow of air beneath him, then, not letting himself think about it too much, he shifts backwards and trails his mouth down, following the ridge of Cas’s spine.

The thing is, Cas took to sex like a duck to water, and as soon as he understood that it basically just involved creative use of hands and mouth and a lot of naked skin, Dean never stood a chance. At first it was kinda funny cause Cas looked at him like a science investigation, all earnest interest and careful experimentation, but pretty soon after that Cas seemed to somehow figure him out, and ever since then it’s been Dean feeling embarrassingly like a teenager again as Cas hits every single spot and then finds a few he didn’t even know he had. 

Mostly though, it’s Dean being completely sucker-punched by Cas’s complete lack of inhibitions; this is something Cas had tried pretty early on, and once Dean had stopped being grossed out it’d actually been pretty mind-blowing. He’s never been able to bring himself to return the favour though, despite knowing how good it feels and knowing that Cas is on his second re-made body, every inch of skin shiny and new.

That’s why he’s deliberately not thinking about it now, blanking everything from his mind but the skin under his mouth, the slope of Cas’s back and the final curve of his spine. He slides his hands down after him, Cas gone still under them, cautious and disbelieving, and it’s that which finally gets Dean; he smooths his palms over Cas’s hips, round to the tops of his thighs and up over his ass, and when Cas even stops breathing Dean huffs a laugh and dips his head down.

The first cautious press of his tongue makes Cas tremble, almost subliminal but definitely there under his hands. The second has him breathing out slow and amazed, wings twitching so the lower feathers brush against Dean’s shoulders and the back of his head. Dean grows bolder, uncurling his tongue enough to lick over the hot skin in a slow, deliberate slide, and Cas moves then, pushing up into it with a gasp.

Dean does it again, a little faster this time, exerting a little more effort into holding Cas down and getting a full-body shudder for his trouble, Cas’s wings flexing over his head. They’re drawing back in towards their owner’s body and the feathers become a constant tickle on the back of his neck and shoulders, ruffling his hair, as he carries on licking in rough stripes and making Cas quake with it, restless against Dean’s hold and repeating his name like a curse or a prayer. 

When Dean starts working in earnest, flicking his tongue over the muscle, Cas jerks hard enough to make the bed springs squeak, something rasping and ancient spilling from his mouth. Dean flicks his eyes up and finds him braced on his forearms with his head bowed, wings half-spread and quivering, shoulders drawn tight, and closes them again so he can concentrate on lapping right at the centre, insistent and heavy. He can pick his name out of the stream of Enochian swearing or whatever it is Cas is saying, and the rest of it is making the back of his neck prickle so he’s half expecting the bedside lamp to explode or the windows to blow out. 

All that happens though is that the muscle finally softens to his tongue and Cas’s voice breaks on his name.

Dean hums smugly against the skin, chasing the give and licking deep, and Cas is rocking his hips back towards Dean and down against the bed and biting out more Hebrew/Aramaic/Ancient Atlantean swears in between strings of “Dean”s, run together and desperate.

Dean knows that slurring of his name, knows that tone and the way Cas is shaking, just a little, and redoubles his efforts. One moment Cas is arching up into it and Dean’s fingers are digging into his hips, and the next second Cas has broken his hold and is all twisting skin under his palms, then there’s a hand hauling him up the bed by the t-shirt, which he just has the presence of mind to eel most of the way out of before he’s thrown down onto the mattress, though he still hears the fabric rip (he’s bought more new t-shirts in the last two years than in probably the rest of his life, and he really needs to see whether Cas can mojo them back together like he can his own clothes, or maybe start billing him for them).

Cas looms over him like the best kind of avenging angel, wings crooked behind his shoulders so they block the light, and Cas knows Dean hates it when Cas mojos him in bed because it makes him feel more helpless than the most hardcore restraints, but it’s kind of hard to remember that when Cas is wrenching his belt and jeans open and off and swallowing him down like a fucking porn star. 

And yeah, Dean was kind of busy focusing on Cas and not really thinking about his own dick, but he’s sure as hell thinking about it now, and Cas is an evil mind-reading cheating genius and this is going to be over in a seriously embarrassingly short time if he keeps on doing _that_. Again though, evil mind-reading genius, and Cas pulls off after a final curl of his tongue over the head, eyes on Dean, and rises up onto his knees, wings spreading to balance him, and - oh jesus - slides down onto him in one fluid motion. Goddamn freaking angels and their absolute control over their vessels, fuck.

“Give a guy a little warning, Cas,” Dean manages once Cas is settled, and in answer Cas surges forward and kisses him hard enough to knock Dean’s head off the headboard and wraps his hand over the scar on Dean’s shoulder. That familiar jolt of heat goes straight down to Dean’s dick and he rolls his hips up without thinking about it, and Cas makes an approving noise that buzzes against his lips and takes it, then rocks back down. 

His wings are curved temptingly close, and if Cas gonna play dirty then so can Dean; he loops both arms under Cas’s and grabs a double handful of feathers, careful to keep his grip just loose enough not to pull any out but tight enough to feel. Cas growls something else that would be written as a squiggle and speeds up, and Dean grins up at him and matches him, giving his handfuls of wing a tug. Cas’s head falls back, spine arching, and Dean cards his hands messily through the feathers, deliberately catching them between his fingers as he goes, and Cas groans and drops his head back forward, fingers tightening on Dean’s arm and sparking five points of heat that burn through his chest. 

Cas is breathing raggedly now, hair curling a little from the sweat, something that’s not quite a moan catching at end of every breath, and Dean takes pity on him and disentangles his right hand, bringing it back round and curling it round Cas’s cock as he sweeps his left up and out as far as he can reach over Cas’s wing. Cas shudders, shoving his whole body forward into Dean’s grip and stuttering his half of the rhythm, and Dean palms roughly over the slick head, gathering enough to make it easier to wrap his hand back round and jack Cas off. 

All it takes is a couple of strokes, Cas getting all sloppy with the rhythm and making those amazingly hot little hitched gasps that Dean always replays when he jerks off cause they get him off like nothing else, and then Cas is slamming his eyes shut and throwing his head back as he comes, light leaking out from under his eyelashes. He says it’s something to do with the connection between them, that it wouldn’t happen with anyone else but Dean, and honestly Dean’s kind of amazingly, jealously glad about that cause whatever they have between them gives him the echoes of Cas’s orgasm as it happens, and it’s usually the last little push he needs to get there himself. His orgasm washes though him like a tidal wave, and above him Cas makes a sharp sound as he gets the ripples of it and the convulsive tightening of Dean’s fingers and grinds down, spiking the pleasure further and making Dean grab helplessly at his handful of feathers as he maybe sort of sees stars.

They come down together, Cas’s eyes fading back to normal and Dean wiping the mess on his hand off on Cas’s stomach so he can get both hands back on Cas’s wings; Cas shivers and does something that has Dean hissing at the over-stimulation and pulling at the feathers in retaliation. Cas grumbles wordlessly and shifts, letting Dean pull out and then half-sliding, half-collapsing off him, ending up on his stomach with one wing sprawled possessively across Dean from collarbones to thighs.

Dean spreads one hand flat over the long, smooth flight feathers where his stomach is. “So, feel better?”

Cas makes a vague noise of assent. Sex always robs him of the ability to speak for a bit, and though he doesn’t fall asleep, he does go all drowsy and adorable.

Dean tucks his other arm under his head and hums agreeably. “Yeah well, I am pretty awesome.”

Cas huffs his little not-quite-a-laugh. 

They lie there for a while, Dean hovering in the fuzzy place between sleep and waking and basking in the endorphins, and Cas breathing slow and steady at his side. It’s _not_ cuddling, okay, cause there’s no skin contact, it’s just...shared afterglow. Eventually, Cas sighs and his wing re-furls with a rustle, and Dean rolls over after it so he can stroke it one more time. Cas makes that almost purring noise again, and then Dean’s palm’s on warm skin instead of soft feathers. He strokes that too, just cause, and Cas arches like a cat, then slides out from under Dean’s hand and stands.

Luckily his clothes are in piles and he dresses quickly and efficiently, moving from one heap to the next. He throws Dean’s clothes up onto the bed as he finds them too, and Dean wriggles his way back into his jeans and underwear because once Cas gets his tie there’ll be nothing to stop Sam barging in and he’s seen Dean naked too many times already. The seam on his t-shirt’s split though, right down the shoulder, and Dean waves it at Cas as the angel is buttoning his shirt.

Cas raises his eyebrows at him, still moving loose and easy, the stick not yet back up his ass. “Can I help you with something, Dean?”

“Think you already did,” Dean drawls, and watches Cas duck his head, smile flashing across his face, “but yeah. Can you mojo this back together? Cause otherwise I’m gonna have to start sending you my shopping bills.”

Cas blinks, but reaches out and touches the tear, which...isn’t there any more. Neat. They’ve ruined Cas’s clothes too many times to count (no seriously, there’s something so _satisfying_ about popping the buttons off Cas’s shirt), but it’s good to know Dean’s can take the same treatment. Dean wrangles the t-shirt over his head and gets up, retrieving the tie from the door and coming back to loop it over Cas’s head as Cas rolls his shoulders to settle his suit jacket. He manages to shrug back into the trenchcoat too while Dean’s fussing with the tie, pulling it tight again and making sure it’s hanging straight, and then they’re just standing there, Dean’s hands flat on Cas’s chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“Just...” Dean says, not meeting Cas’s eyes, “be careful up there, okay? And call us if you need anything.” He does look up then, finding Cas, of course, already watching him, eyes softer than his normal freaky-scientist stare. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna win this thing, okay?”

“Your confidence in me is unwarranted, but much appreciated,” Cas says gravely, hands coming up to curl round Dean’s wrists and gently push Dean’s hands away. He squeezes once, then lets go.

“And uh, feel free to come on down here any time you need another ‘respite’,” Dean adds, unable to resist and smirking, and Cas’s mouth twitches.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says formally, face serious but eyes amused, and then just like that, he’s gone, leaving only a rustle of wings behind him.

“And learn to say goodbye, you feathery bastard!” Dean shouts at the ceiling, then swings back to the TV, turning it on and flicking round til he finds something with explosions, and sprawls across the bed to wait for Sam.

**Author's Note:**

>  _"Put your hands all over me,_  
>  _Please talk to me, talk to me_  
>  _And tell me everything is gonna be alright."_  
>  \- "Hands All Over", Maroon 5


End file.
